I'm So Glad
by tack
Summary: The beginning of a Spaith fic.


disclaimer: nothing is mine. the plot is probably even a bunch of other fics cut up and meshed together without my realizing it.  
It was nice. Back in the game. Out on the town. Slaying his kinfolk. Swish swish swish. Bap, bam, boff. Other cartoon words. Spending a while in Xander's basement had exposed him to the real American way of life. Superman, blue tights, swoosh, crack, slam, yay, and the world is saved once again. I hated Sunnydale in the day, the same way I hated the mix of colors slammed and packed into the tiny little panels. The world where tights and billowing capes measured ones ability to kick ass. Hardly any of the villains were undead.  
  
I notice that. Like if you have blue hair you notice other people with blue hair. Or you just brushed your teeth. Watching the telly, you see a toothpaste ad, and you notice it. It's not like I brush regularly anymore. I try. But it seems too normal, really. Clear plastic, soft bristles, what's next? Who knows. I might trade my DeSoto for a minivan. My fangs are sensitive, anyway. I hate cold water. What was I talking about? Bloody cartoons. Great.  
  
It's strange. In the pages of Batman and Superman, and even the fuckin' old yellowed taped-up Green Arrows shoved far back in his equally bent up wooden box, there were hardly ever evil of a more baser kind. Insane humans, mutated humans, radioactive humans, deities gone a bit dotty, inanimate objects brought to life, even demons of a wilder, rarer sort. But not much vampires. I know why. We're the foot soldiers of the demon world. We will always be there. Like tiny insects, we fester and grow and maybe even become a force then, smash. Bap, bam, boff. But we'll never all get killed. We multiply quickly, we're at the bottom of the (metaphorical) demon food chain, we have our fists, our fangs, our lust for blood. Any smarts we can carry over from our human life.  
  
I used to resent ever being human. Like everything comes from humans and spawns into something different. And the ones who don't believe in us, who see the flash of yellow eyes in the night and think cat, even while nervously hurrying to their cars, they think other humans made us up. Out of thin air. And how did we appear? Hell. I don't know. I like to think in great sweeping general terms of swirling masses of Chaos and particles, and what? Hydrogen. Oxygen. Primordial sludge. The big bang. BOOM! And there we were. Stuff straight out of the pulps.  
  
Straight cut jaw, bright blonde hair. Maybe black. Not brown. Certainly never platinum. Just straight yellow, color of hay and farms and the American way of life. You know, I've never seen a vamp play baseball. Anyway. I burned all of them. The comics, I mean. No big deal. He never even noticed.  
  
I'm sure when he goes to rearrange them like all neurotic nerds do, he'll twist his face into something decidedly satisfying. But I won't see it.  
  
Ah. There we go. This should be my third kill, but the second got away. I know, I know. Maybe I'm losing it. Yeah, no way. He had mace. Imagine that. Vampire carrying mace. I wish I could have asked him why.  
  
"You never know who could come up and try to grab you."  
  
Then I have a witty reply, and my duster goes swish and I have a very nice, stylish kill. Everything goes smoothly.  
  
Right. I misjudged. Or maybe the kid hopped a little. Anyway, my impromptu stake is currently caught in his ribs. This would never happen to Superman.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
Hell. Now he's gonna talk. I always try to kill them quickly, otherwise shit like this happens. Oh, fuck finesse.  
  
With a skip and a hop, and there we go. I'm sure I look mighty silly. I hope no one is watching. Wonder what they call that move. I had to twist him 'round and try to pop his head off. Didn't work so well. I usually try to look the part of dangerous creature to the night, but it's hard while straddling a smelly 80's Deadhead vamp and clutching desperately at his face. You never know who could be watching.  
  
And of course, someone starts clapping.  
  
Swish. I turn and let my boot slide a few inches back for balance. Keep game face on, obviously. I look cooler if I don't put my fists up. This is kinda important. Goes into the whole intimidation thing. That's half the battle. The other half is paying attention.  
  
"-like you thought he was a giant zit." Chuckling. Sexy voice. Hopefully human. Don't particularly fancy getting turned on by a something like a Dwrar demon. Again, anyway.  
  
This is usually were the super special extra incredible vamp senses kick in. But I'm practically wearing the dust of the three I already killed. My nostrils flare, and in the dim light I can see the particles swirling around me. Too late. Inhaled a couple of my cousins.  
  
And I sneeze. Not just any sneeze. One of those fuckin' half-sneezes and half-snorts so I come dangerously close to choking to death on my own spit. In between shakes, my ridged face slides off. I pretty much give up on being intimidating.  
  
The chuckling has turned into a fit of giggles now. Very non-threatening. I scowl half-heartedly, and listen to the sound. Pretty. Also, about 30 feet to the right of me. I turn my head. I know my eyes are shining yellow, but it doesn't seem to bother the girl in front of me.  
  
"Who are you?" I try for sharp, but it comes out a bit more dull then I would have liked.  
  
She straightens. I get a glimpse of curves and a flash of dark eyes before she snarls and lunges.  
  
What the hell is this? Is she a demon? She seems human. My fist hitting her stomach gives the same satisfying feel, but instead of hitting cardboard, and more accurate comparison would be steel. Diamonds. Something unbendable. Hi, Supergirl. Call me Spikeman. We're both grinning at each other without realizing it. Did I say that aloud? No. She's responding to the fight the same way I am.  
  
I get in a half-hearted headlock and lower my head to her neck for better leverage. I freeze. I can smell the thin layer of sweat and salt in one of the niches along the collarbone. But more importantly, the blood rushing beneath the surface. My eyes go wide and I push her away from me. She's looking at me with wide eyes. Probably thought she was going to die, but I know my eyes are just as wide.  
  
I breathe it more than say it.  
  
"Slayer." 


End file.
